


Devil's Backbone

by meisterful



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Dark Magic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meisterful/pseuds/meisterful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was forbidden to commune with the dead. It was also forbidden to bring about the death of another, but she had already done that. Even if it wasn’t strictly communion and she was searching for a specific spirit... //Was written as a oneshot for an ask game. Dark magic dark ages au. May be continued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Backbone

It was forbidden to commune with the dead. It was also forbidden to bring about the death of another, but she had already done that. It didn’t help that she was more than just branded as incompetent or jinx. She was branded as something much worse. Witches spawn, unnatural soul, blood crafter... The whole village already thought the worst of her, so really what difference did a small communion with the spirits matter? Even if it wasn’t strictly communion and she was searching for a specific spirit, she was feared and loathed regardless. 

Tonight she would not fear the creatures. Her blood ran hot with grief and cold with determination. Her knife was sheathed at her hip and her skin buzzed with the power of the runes she had painted on herself before departing. Any creature foolish enough to cross her path tonight would be struck down and skinned without a second thought. If it wasn’t quite dead when she did the skinning, well that was it’s own fault. They should know better than to cross a woman like her. Everyone should. 

She stole into the woods late at night and only once she was deep in and half lost did she stop and find a place to unpack her basket. She draped a red cloth over the ground before pulling out and lighting six black candles. The flames flickered in the late autumn air and provided no warmth and scarce light. It mattered not. She shed her cloak and despite the chill wind stripped down to her skin, golden hair and black runes the only covering on her body. Last, she drew a small vial on a chain from the basket. She gently, near reverently, pulled it over her head. The charm, filled with dark red blood rested between her small breasts. She sat with her legs folded beneath her. Using her hunting knife she made a shallow cut in the palm of her hand. She dripped her blood over the candles and chanted. As she chanted the flames grew. She pulled some bread from her basket and sprinkled the crumbs over the flames, an offering to the hungry dead. The ashes would call him back to her and appease the guardians between worlds. 

She let her eyes flutter shut and she focussed on the divide between worlds, on who she wanted to see. She pictured blonde hair, tan skin and warm brown eyes. She remembered a calloused hand in hers, the smell of wood smoke and undergrowth and man. The vial around her neck grew warm against her skin. She felt shoulders broad and knotted after a night standing at the wall and how those knots would come undone in her hands the same way he would, deep in the forest where no one could hear them scream. She called forth his breath hot on her neck, his mouth around her breast and the reverent way he would whisper her name over and over again. The candles sputtered and the forest fell silent. Still she chanted, holding her focus despite the odds. She recalled every little glance, every brush of hands, every small smile, every promise. She even called to mind every blow out fight, all the arguments and days spent not speaking. She wanted it all back, all of him, even the parts she didn’t like, the ones she loved despite it all. The vial grew almost unbearably hot between her breasts, but she chanted regardless. She would bring him back. She was her mother’s daughter, she was feared and avoided for a reason. She had power, magic in her veins, blood on her hands. Only when the vial started to sear her skin did she gasp, chant broken. She grasped at the vial panicked. The blood had turned black. She clutched it desperately. This was not meant to happen, something had gone wrong. She had failed. Tears came hot and fast and she shrieked into the night, not caring who or what could hear her. 

"Ah come on tiny tits. Dead or not, I can’t look that bad." 

Her head whipped up at the sound of a familiar voice. Sitting cross legged, bare and naked as she was, a man she feared she’d never see again. It was him, but it was not. The creature in front of her may not be her lost friend and even if it was him he was changed by death. The curse that had started to take a hold of him before he bled out had completed in death. His once blonde hair had faded to white and his eyes were now as red as the blood from his chest that flooded the church the day that he died. Still, no one else had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her now and no one else would dare call her tiny tits. 

"Soul…" she barely dared to whisper his name.

"Maka." he smiled tentatively, unwittingly displayed a new set of pointed teeth. 

"Your blood is black." she stated dumbly, holding out the vial. 

Soul nodded, inclining his head towards her hand. Maka glanced down at it. Her small cut was still bleeding freely, only now it wasn’t red that stained her skin, but black.

"So is yours." 

Maka’s gaze flitted between Soul and her hand. She had power yes, and blood on her hands. The magic in her veins was undeniable, but now so was something else. Soul reached for her, taking her hand in his the way he had a million times before. Her blood ran between their fingers, dripping to the ground slowly. Maka locked eyes with Soul, studying his new ruby gaze. He stared back at her silently, thumb running over her knuckles lightly, black blood smearing across her pale skin. She had succeeded in bringing him back at least partially. 

“Are you up to some digging?” she asked numbly. 

“Don’t tell me you just resurrected me to do your chores.” 

He was just trying to lighten the mood, but now wasn’t the time for that and they both knew it. Maka shook her head and stood, pulling him with her. 

“I resurrected you to rob your own grave.”


End file.
